Who knew that a trip to WH Smiths could invoke such feelings of liberty and freedom?
Yes that's right, today I went shopping. So what if I only bought a magazine, an ice tea and a mint bloody Aero, being in an alcove of consumerism made me feel alive once again. I even stood outside for about five seconds before the smell of tobacco emanating from the desperate smokers overwhelmed me. And before you take me for for one of those nutty anti-smoking agents of doom it's worth mentioning that I am in fact a smoker myself, though whether I still consider myself one is a bit up in the air right now. You'd think the smell would inspire feelings of joy and comfort but it actually made me feel a bit queasy. Bizarre. Is this the end of my smoking habit? Maybe I'll turn into one of those annoying social smokers who steals cigarettes from people because he just can't get over the association between drinking and smoking, yet won't commit to buying his own pack for the night. You know. That guy.
Anyway, I fear I'm veering off the point here. Yesterday I woke up needing to escape. I've been here a whole month and the place is quite frankly driving me bonkers. Yet until my chemo finishes, here I must remain. But today an on call doctor gave me the all clear to venture to B floor to check out the Smiths establishment, and just that mere fifteen minute adventure really made my day. Feeling the cold air and using my debit card changed things up more than you can imagine, and it's made me even more excited to be going home soon. Not long now people!
In other news, my hair is falling out at a rate of knots. So it goes. At the moment it's just thinning drastically but sooner or later I'm gonna have to bite the bullet and get it shaved again. I wouldn't mind so much if it weren't for these damned steroids puffing my cheeks out so much. My dosage it getting cut down tomorrow but I still fear I'm gonna wake up one morning looking like the elephant man. If I still had my shaggy locks then at least I could retain my boyish charm. Not to be. We move on. But if my hair hair grows back ginger and curly, then God officially has it in for young Ryan.
I hope your weeks have been prosperous and productive. I've been ebaying, and being absolute balls at it on the most part. Won a bid on a shirt today though, just a fiver as well. I could get horrendously addicted to this, you know. But hey, with all the weight I've lost, I could do with a new wardrobe.
That'll do. A quick thing before I go, please take some time to read this blog. Katie was diagnosed with ALL back in May and she's just started up a blog about her own experiences. It's a great read and she's showing magnificent courage, so I implore you all to get behind her!
http://tenacious-kt.blogspot.com/
Big love to you all.
Ryan.
Sunday, 13 February 2011
Thursday, 10 February 2011
Home From Home.
So Greybeard comes in this morning flanked by about five enthusiastic student doctors, all of whom are armed to the teeth with questions about my illness. Eager learners, they will go far. It made me feel like quite the celebrity, as the whole experience had a kinda press conference feel to it. One would ask something about my symptoms, then another would chirp in with a question about my Hickman line, and then Greybeard would sort of oversee the whole thing by making sure the information was sound and true. Their gazes were fixated on me, all it needed really was a camera crew and sound guy for it to be the real deal. It made me feel important and noticed, yet I suppose this is all part of the process for students. But to hell with it, I'm gonna revel in my sense of arrogance. GO ME.
It's fast approaching a month since my diagnosis. I'm not really sure how I feel about that. It also means I've spent nearly a month in hospital, deprived from fresh air and restricted to a ward that's no bigger than the shop floor of a Topman. Yet in spite of this arduous hospital stay, it means that I am in fact coming to the end of my first phase of chemo treatment. I am officially in the last week of induction. After that week, all I have to do is recover my blood counts and then I am allowed to return to the place that I've missed more than anything these past few weeks: home. Oh how one word can invoke such emotion just by thinking about it.
There's nothing overtly special about my home, except it is what it is. My bed is a single bed, not particularly great, but it's mine. My room is tiny, a bit of a box in fact, but it's mine. The shower is crap and it's a pain in the arse because it leaks, but it's mine. Home is truly where the heart is. You can pick out as many flaws as you want but deep down you know there's no other place in the world you would rather be. And knowing that I could be back in just two weeks (optimism is flowing through me) is already choking me up.
And I'm officially a pussy.
I'll keep it short and sweet for this evening. I'm desperately tired, but then you all know the drill with this chemo nonsense. Makes you knackered, down for the count, blah blah blah. One thing before I go, many thanks to all the people on twitter who have been ever so kind to retweet my blog today. And to anyone who's reading for the first time, big thanks for dropping by. I hope you enjoy your stay at The Deadly Rhythm.
Big love,
Ryan.
It's fast approaching a month since my diagnosis. I'm not really sure how I feel about that. It also means I've spent nearly a month in hospital, deprived from fresh air and restricted to a ward that's no bigger than the shop floor of a Topman. Yet in spite of this arduous hospital stay, it means that I am in fact coming to the end of my first phase of chemo treatment. I am officially in the last week of induction. After that week, all I have to do is recover my blood counts and then I am allowed to return to the place that I've missed more than anything these past few weeks: home. Oh how one word can invoke such emotion just by thinking about it.
There's nothing overtly special about my home, except it is what it is. My bed is a single bed, not particularly great, but it's mine. My room is tiny, a bit of a box in fact, but it's mine. The shower is crap and it's a pain in the arse because it leaks, but it's mine. Home is truly where the heart is. You can pick out as many flaws as you want but deep down you know there's no other place in the world you would rather be. And knowing that I could be back in just two weeks (optimism is flowing through me) is already choking me up.
And I'm officially a pussy.
I'll keep it short and sweet for this evening. I'm desperately tired, but then you all know the drill with this chemo nonsense. Makes you knackered, down for the count, blah blah blah. One thing before I go, many thanks to all the people on twitter who have been ever so kind to retweet my blog today. And to anyone who's reading for the first time, big thanks for dropping by. I hope you enjoy your stay at The Deadly Rhythm.
Big love,
Ryan.
Tuesday, 8 February 2011
The Avengers.
So after last time's crazy font debacle I'm hoping that things have returned back to the simple, smaller typeface for this entry. I don't know why I'm so aesthetically obsessed with these things, but having a slightly different font for one post really annoyed me. It will be the last time I do my entries on Microsoft Word instead of the usual blogging template, I assure you.
So it's just gone quarter past nine in the morning and I've been up for about two and a half hours now contemplating what to talk about. Things have been a bit slow these last few days but I've continued to feel well and many positive vibes are flowing through my inner sanctum as I progress through my treatment. So I ask myself again, what to write about? Then it occurred to me that I haven't really touched upon the weird and wonderful staff that patrol the P Ward at the Royal Hallamshire Hospital. Nurses, doctors, support staff, catering staff, cleaners, reiki specialists; there's all kinds of awesome people who work here and I thought it'd be quite fitting to do a blog dedicated to some of the people who go to such lengths to ensure that I make the fullest recovery.
I introduced Greybeard a few entries back. The man is wise beyond his years, because in spite of being the top dog consultant, he's actually quite young. This doesn't concern me in the slightest however, as you can tell he knows his stuff. ALL seems to be his expertise, and since the day he gave me my diagnosis the sheer amount I've learnt from him has been quite frankly astronomical. But I suppose the thing I respect most about my consultant is his frankness. Greybeard does not sugarcoat anything. Right from the off, he's made me aware of the severity of my illness and the struggles that I face over the next 9 months or so. Yet he's invested such an emotional interest in my recovery to the extent that you feel that he's truly rooting for you. Whenever there's good news he's got a great smile on his face, and if I'm doing well with my treatment he sure let's me know about it. Support like this from a consultant is hugely encouraging, and I feel that a lot of my positive attitude can be attributed by the outlook of my doctor. What a dude.
Of course there are other doctors who are doing a stellar job, all working under Greybeard (I like to call the team The Avengers). Dr. Tini is a senior house officer who I'm guessing hails from a Vietnamese background. He talks like Mr Miyagi and often speaks in proverbs. I'm not even kidding. A truly wise man who also dresses impeccably, his role is mostly to make sure my general health is in check and to provide me with news on how my recovery is going. A real pleasure hearing him speak, and always great when he brings the good news. He once bowed after doing a check up. I think he's possibly my favourite.
Dr. Scottish is a lovely pharmaceutical doctor who prescribes me all my lovely medicine. Her job is to make sure my cocktail of drugs doesn't combine to do more harm than good. Very important job indeed. Dr. Giggles is the first registrar who saw me. Though he was tasked with the difficult job of breaking the news that I might have Leukemia, he goes about his business with a combined sense of professionalism and lightheartedness which actually puts you at great ease. And he giggles like a bloody schoolgirl. Another favourite of mine.
Now obviously the doctors are insanely important to my well being. They need to be on their game to ensure I get better, that's a given. But where would I be without the nurses? Constantly looking after me twenty-four/seven, I cannot express enough how much love I have for the nurses who work here. When I was going through the various pains and feelings of general anguish, they were tirelessly there for me making sure I was getting the right relief and ensuring that I was as comfortable as I could possibly be. If things got too much there would always be a nurse there to make sure I was at least being seen to. I would love to name and honour them individually, but there are so many great nurses here it would literally take me weeks. So when I get out of hospital and have my first beer or SoCo and lemonade or whatever, it's being raised to them. I seriously cannot stress how fantastic they are.
Big shout out to Bertha, member of the catering staff. Her shouts of "WANT A DRINK, DUCK?" three times a day will stay with me forever. Also Sharon, who cleans my bed every morning. Though she hasn't cleaned it since Sunday. Words are gonna be had, methinks.
That's all for now. I'll leave you with details of the Dominos pizza I had last night. A large pepperoni, sausage, ground beef and green peppers with mozzarella sticks and chicken kickers. I nearly fainted it was so good.
Big love.
Ryan.
So it's just gone quarter past nine in the morning and I've been up for about two and a half hours now contemplating what to talk about. Things have been a bit slow these last few days but I've continued to feel well and many positive vibes are flowing through my inner sanctum as I progress through my treatment. So I ask myself again, what to write about? Then it occurred to me that I haven't really touched upon the weird and wonderful staff that patrol the P Ward at the Royal Hallamshire Hospital. Nurses, doctors, support staff, catering staff, cleaners, reiki specialists; there's all kinds of awesome people who work here and I thought it'd be quite fitting to do a blog dedicated to some of the people who go to such lengths to ensure that I make the fullest recovery.
I introduced Greybeard a few entries back. The man is wise beyond his years, because in spite of being the top dog consultant, he's actually quite young. This doesn't concern me in the slightest however, as you can tell he knows his stuff. ALL seems to be his expertise, and since the day he gave me my diagnosis the sheer amount I've learnt from him has been quite frankly astronomical. But I suppose the thing I respect most about my consultant is his frankness. Greybeard does not sugarcoat anything. Right from the off, he's made me aware of the severity of my illness and the struggles that I face over the next 9 months or so. Yet he's invested such an emotional interest in my recovery to the extent that you feel that he's truly rooting for you. Whenever there's good news he's got a great smile on his face, and if I'm doing well with my treatment he sure let's me know about it. Support like this from a consultant is hugely encouraging, and I feel that a lot of my positive attitude can be attributed by the outlook of my doctor. What a dude.
Of course there are other doctors who are doing a stellar job, all working under Greybeard (I like to call the team The Avengers). Dr. Tini is a senior house officer who I'm guessing hails from a Vietnamese background. He talks like Mr Miyagi and often speaks in proverbs. I'm not even kidding. A truly wise man who also dresses impeccably, his role is mostly to make sure my general health is in check and to provide me with news on how my recovery is going. A real pleasure hearing him speak, and always great when he brings the good news. He once bowed after doing a check up. I think he's possibly my favourite.
Dr. Scottish is a lovely pharmaceutical doctor who prescribes me all my lovely medicine. Her job is to make sure my cocktail of drugs doesn't combine to do more harm than good. Very important job indeed. Dr. Giggles is the first registrar who saw me. Though he was tasked with the difficult job of breaking the news that I might have Leukemia, he goes about his business with a combined sense of professionalism and lightheartedness which actually puts you at great ease. And he giggles like a bloody schoolgirl. Another favourite of mine.
Now obviously the doctors are insanely important to my well being. They need to be on their game to ensure I get better, that's a given. But where would I be without the nurses? Constantly looking after me twenty-four/seven, I cannot express enough how much love I have for the nurses who work here. When I was going through the various pains and feelings of general anguish, they were tirelessly there for me making sure I was getting the right relief and ensuring that I was as comfortable as I could possibly be. If things got too much there would always be a nurse there to make sure I was at least being seen to. I would love to name and honour them individually, but there are so many great nurses here it would literally take me weeks. So when I get out of hospital and have my first beer or SoCo and lemonade or whatever, it's being raised to them. I seriously cannot stress how fantastic they are.
Big shout out to Bertha, member of the catering staff. Her shouts of "WANT A DRINK, DUCK?" three times a day will stay with me forever. Also Sharon, who cleans my bed every morning. Though she hasn't cleaned it since Sunday. Words are gonna be had, methinks.
That's all for now. I'll leave you with details of the Dominos pizza I had last night. A large pepperoni, sausage, ground beef and green peppers with mozzarella sticks and chicken kickers. I nearly fainted it was so good.
Big love.
Ryan.
Friday, 4 February 2011
Being Human.
I was woken up this morning to the question of “GOT ANY WEE BOTTLES?” I assure you this is standard procedure at a hospital for all patients on a fluid chart, but I wasn’t quite so prepared for the ferocity of the enquiry as I stirred from my deep slumber. My response was a nonchalant ‘nah’ and I made some Cheerios. They were yummy.
Today has been the first day in a while that I’ve actually felt like a human being. Call it one of those ‘good days.’ I don’t mean to portray that with any brush of cynicism; rather on the contrary, as I’m over the moon that I feel a bit like my old self again. Funny how you can have the absolute crap kicked out of you relentlessly for days on end and then all of a sudden you wake up and you feel… normal. It’s a huge encouragement to the mental side of things, and it really does instill you with the belief that you can do this. Not that I had any doubts at all, guys. ;)
It’s not all been plain sailing though. I’ve been picking up infections through my toils and thus complications have arisen. Firstly I was moved to my own room (which isn’t a bad thing at all, I get my own en suite, shower, sink and other cool utilities) to ensure that other illnesses weren’t picked up, but as my temperature kept going up they concluded that isolationism and plenty of antibiotic drips are the only things that are gonna put a stop to infections fast. These have their inevitable drawbacks. First of all, one of the infections might be swine flu, and that’s just embarrassing. Second, all my visitors must come clad head to toe in aprons, face masks and head pieces, which kinda makes me feel a further sense of isolation than the one I’m feeling at the moment. Gutting, but on the plus side, seeing my mate Shyam in a yellow apron and upside down mask was probably the biggest highlight of my hospital stay so far.
So there are ups and downs. I’ve turned back to music and started acquiring new things again. Grizzly Bear, Wild Beasts, Shoes and Socks Off, You Slut! and Earl Sweatshirt have been keeping me busy. Got any suggestions? Whack them in the comment box! Music is my absolute love and I adore hearing new bands and sounds, so if you want to recommend then don’t hesitate. Also check out my last.fm. And if you don’t have last.fm, get one! I cannot endorse it enough.
Big love my peeps!
Ryan.
Wednesday, 2 February 2011
February Stars Bring February Scars
This week has seen a new month veer its head, and to be honest I've not had the best of starts to February. Treatment has been utterly brutal these past few days, and even though I am cycling through a notoriously bad stage of the chemotherapy gauntlet, it's been very hard to keep on with a positive attitude through all the hardships and drastic changes that my body has had to endure. Now of course I never expected treatment to be akin to elementary bread making, but nothing can fully prepare you for what can only described as the horror. THE HORROR. But being that as it may, I am still fighting. I will win. I will get better. The road just looks long as hell from here.
Not the most uplifting first paragraph to this post. For that I'm sorry. I'll try and lighten the mood a bit with a gleeful run down of all the super chemicals that they give me and their wonderful side effects. First on the bill is Vincristine. Ooooh Vincristine. You and me buddy. We've been through much already have the pair of us. This lovely stuff is a drip that only lasts for 5 minutes, once a week, but my God, its the worst of the bloody lot. What's its main side effect? Constipation. THAT'S WHAT. And my God don't you know about it. Stomach cramps, sensations of being stabbed by a samurai over and over again and a general lack of motivation to even acknowledge existence makes Vincrisitine the big bad man of chemotherapy. Three more doses of this bastard coming up. I can hardly wait.
Next on the list, Daunorubicin, commonly known as Captain destroyer of all things hairstyles. Now even though I'm yet to actually lose any hair from my head (you may recall I shaved it off myself), it is worth pointing out that Daunorubicin is a patient player. Much like the careful Warlord, or the perfectionist painter, he'll pick his moment only when he feels it's time to do so, therefore completely bamboozling you and leaving you feeling cheated and enraged to the point that you can only fall to your knees and bellow to the Gods WHHHHYYYYYY. So naturally I don't look forward to this. I'm actually growing to like my short hair, and as it's growing so fast I'm pleased to see that in perhaps two weeks time I could actually style the bloody thing. Two weeks seems just about the right time for Senor Dauno to cast his killing curse on these brown locks and commit them to their foregone end. Devastation shall sweep the lands. And I will be sullen.
Oh yeah, Daunorubicin also makes you tired as hell, so I won't even have the energy to shave my hair again. That's just nice.
Peg L-asparaginase. Not so much a monster one this. Just the process. Injections, in the buttocks. Both buttocks. Flanked my two nurses, pants pulled down, my dignity is vanquished. Gotta laugh I suppose.
And finally, the steriods. No, not the steroids that give you roid rage, rather the ones that make you hungry and long for food that you once could enjoy but now can't because of the limitations of the hospital menu. Over the last two or so weeks I have dreamed or thought about: steak, curry, Sunday roast, Nandos, McDonald's, fish and chips w/ saveloy, TGI Fridays, Pizza Hut, more streak, sorbet, roast pork baguettes, Thai food, KFC, shepherd's pie and Northern Sole, plus more. This appetite I've created is driving me mental, all because of little steroids. How does that work? All I know is, after leaving hospital, me and Ellise are going out eating for one week armed to the teeth in discount codes and tip money and eating the most food that I have ever consumed. That's only fair.
Next time I'll fill you in on some other awesome characters that I've encountered in the ward. Some are Doctors, some are Nurses, others I really couldn't tell you. I'll try and make the aliases good.
Love,
Ryan.
Not the most uplifting first paragraph to this post. For that I'm sorry. I'll try and lighten the mood a bit with a gleeful run down of all the super chemicals that they give me and their wonderful side effects. First on the bill is Vincristine. Ooooh Vincristine. You and me buddy. We've been through much already have the pair of us. This lovely stuff is a drip that only lasts for 5 minutes, once a week, but my God, its the worst of the bloody lot. What's its main side effect? Constipation. THAT'S WHAT. And my God don't you know about it. Stomach cramps, sensations of being stabbed by a samurai over and over again and a general lack of motivation to even acknowledge existence makes Vincrisitine the big bad man of chemotherapy. Three more doses of this bastard coming up. I can hardly wait.
Next on the list, Daunorubicin, commonly known as Captain destroyer of all things hairstyles. Now even though I'm yet to actually lose any hair from my head (you may recall I shaved it off myself), it is worth pointing out that Daunorubicin is a patient player. Much like the careful Warlord, or the perfectionist painter, he'll pick his moment only when he feels it's time to do so, therefore completely bamboozling you and leaving you feeling cheated and enraged to the point that you can only fall to your knees and bellow to the Gods WHHHHYYYYYY. So naturally I don't look forward to this. I'm actually growing to like my short hair, and as it's growing so fast I'm pleased to see that in perhaps two weeks time I could actually style the bloody thing. Two weeks seems just about the right time for Senor Dauno to cast his killing curse on these brown locks and commit them to their foregone end. Devastation shall sweep the lands. And I will be sullen.
Oh yeah, Daunorubicin also makes you tired as hell, so I won't even have the energy to shave my hair again. That's just nice.
Peg L-asparaginase. Not so much a monster one this. Just the process. Injections, in the buttocks. Both buttocks. Flanked my two nurses, pants pulled down, my dignity is vanquished. Gotta laugh I suppose.
And finally, the steriods. No, not the steroids that give you roid rage, rather the ones that make you hungry and long for food that you once could enjoy but now can't because of the limitations of the hospital menu. Over the last two or so weeks I have dreamed or thought about: steak, curry, Sunday roast, Nandos, McDonald's, fish and chips w/ saveloy, TGI Fridays, Pizza Hut, more streak, sorbet, roast pork baguettes, Thai food, KFC, shepherd's pie and Northern Sole, plus more. This appetite I've created is driving me mental, all because of little steroids. How does that work? All I know is, after leaving hospital, me and Ellise are going out eating for one week armed to the teeth in discount codes and tip money and eating the most food that I have ever consumed. That's only fair.
Next time I'll fill you in on some other awesome characters that I've encountered in the ward. Some are Doctors, some are Nurses, others I really couldn't tell you. I'll try and make the aliases good.
Love,
Ryan.
Saturday, 29 January 2011
All The Small Things
Cast your mind back to the first post I made when I revealed the extent of my illness. Well, I said I would be giving a brutally honest account of how I'd be coping with my treatment, so I dare not cheat you out of any details. Basically, I had an enema today. And even though it made me feel about 8000000 million times better than before, it was the most horrifying experience of my life. And that's where I'm gonna be leaving that.
Moving on.
Today I've been thinking about routine, and how important it can be for a place like this. These last few days I've really been suffering from feelings of boredom, pain and isolationism, and through that any sense of routine that I was holding on to was haphazardly discarded out of the nearest window. Today I feel like I've turned a corner of sorts, as life simply takes a new twist in hospital as opposed to just being put on hold. Yet the one thing I'm struggling on is what kind of routine to adhere to. TV hours? Xbox sessions? Strenuous exercise routines? I've got to be honest, being confined in a space so small has left me short on ideas as to what to do with my day, so I thought WHY NOT ASK YOU LOVELY PEOPLE? If you've got the capabilities to comment in the box below then do so! I'd love some suggestions. Some facts about me that might help: I like the colour green. Craft work amuses me. Keep it clean, people.
Short and sweet today you might think. I'll be sure to get an update to you early next week, focusing a bit more on how the treatment itself is going. Chemo affects your mood in so many different ways it can be tricky to keep a close tab on the exact extremities that your body goes through. What's important to remember though is that this blog is not only a great way to reach out to others, but to act as a way for me to fully come to terms with my treatment, so I'll be sure to keep you all informed on all the weird and wonderful side effects that I'm going through!
Big love!
Ryan.
Moving on.
Today I've been thinking about routine, and how important it can be for a place like this. These last few days I've really been suffering from feelings of boredom, pain and isolationism, and through that any sense of routine that I was holding on to was haphazardly discarded out of the nearest window. Today I feel like I've turned a corner of sorts, as life simply takes a new twist in hospital as opposed to just being put on hold. Yet the one thing I'm struggling on is what kind of routine to adhere to. TV hours? Xbox sessions? Strenuous exercise routines? I've got to be honest, being confined in a space so small has left me short on ideas as to what to do with my day, so I thought WHY NOT ASK YOU LOVELY PEOPLE? If you've got the capabilities to comment in the box below then do so! I'd love some suggestions. Some facts about me that might help: I like the colour green. Craft work amuses me. Keep it clean, people.
Short and sweet today you might think. I'll be sure to get an update to you early next week, focusing a bit more on how the treatment itself is going. Chemo affects your mood in so many different ways it can be tricky to keep a close tab on the exact extremities that your body goes through. What's important to remember though is that this blog is not only a great way to reach out to others, but to act as a way for me to fully come to terms with my treatment, so I'll be sure to keep you all informed on all the weird and wonderful side effects that I'm going through!
Big love!
Ryan.
Monday, 24 January 2011
Headaches and best mates.
Well first thing's first, I thought I'd apologise for the lack of an update for the past few days. I don't mean to keep you in the dark, and I have to say I've been absolutely touched by the interest that you've all invested into my recovery. So to make it up to you, here's a bumper entry about the last four or so days of my life, though I'm terribly sorry to report that they've been on the most part BORING AS HELL.
Perhaps the most significant development was on Thursday with my lovely lumbar puncture, a process which involves taking fluid samples straight out of the spinal chord and then injecting the chemo directly to my brain. Dramatic as hell, you might think, but the process itself wasn't actually that bad, and I joyfully walked out of the procedure thinking all this chemo lark was all a bit of a picnic and that I was practically invincible. Never again in my life am I endorsing any such feelings of underestimation. The after effects of that procedure have been hellish. Imagine the worst headache known to man, coupled with the vision and audio of Bono poorly playing the citar with a choir full of Miley Cyrus/Macy Gray clones bringing up the vocal rear behind him and you're not even close. Spinal fluid imbalance is no joke kids, so be wary indeed.
I thought I'd also point out that if Biggie was still alive and found out one of his raps had been remixed with Miley Cyrus, he'd probably kill the bitch.
But in amongst the gloom and anguish of chronic headaches I've had some good times, I assure you all. Saturday in particular was brilliant, mostly down to the huge number of beautiful visitors that came to see me throughout the day. When dealing with treatment as heavy as this, sometimes the best method is simply forgetting about it all and laughing with friends and family, and that's what Saturday was all about. Being surrounded by people that I care so dearly about actually made me forget about all this Luke nonsense (by the way, I'm now simply calling my condition 'Luke'), and even if it's snippets of nostalgia or bemoaning a typical bad result for West Ham, it's so nice to be reminded that I have a life waiting for me as soon as I get this treatment out of the way. Yesterday I was upset trying to comprehend the amount of time I have to spend in this ward, but I assure you now as I write this blog I have a smile on my face as I look forward to all the time I'm going to have when I'm on the road to recovery. Things aren't so bad.
That's not to say don't visit me for the meantime though. I love visits, hence COME VISIT ME. Even if it's just a quick hello or yearnings for some of my wise counsel, you'll be doing me the world of good by showing your lovely faces.
That'll do for now. Just a quick word to all my fellow English peeps sitting Victorian Lit tomorrow: sorry I can't be there, I'm sure you're all gonna smash it though and get the grades you need. Remember, Robert Browning was an absolute gangster and is well worth writing a question on. Believe.
Much love.
Ryan.
Perhaps the most significant development was on Thursday with my lovely lumbar puncture, a process which involves taking fluid samples straight out of the spinal chord and then injecting the chemo directly to my brain. Dramatic as hell, you might think, but the process itself wasn't actually that bad, and I joyfully walked out of the procedure thinking all this chemo lark was all a bit of a picnic and that I was practically invincible. Never again in my life am I endorsing any such feelings of underestimation. The after effects of that procedure have been hellish. Imagine the worst headache known to man, coupled with the vision and audio of Bono poorly playing the citar with a choir full of Miley Cyrus/Macy Gray clones bringing up the vocal rear behind him and you're not even close. Spinal fluid imbalance is no joke kids, so be wary indeed.
I thought I'd also point out that if Biggie was still alive and found out one of his raps had been remixed with Miley Cyrus, he'd probably kill the bitch.
But in amongst the gloom and anguish of chronic headaches I've had some good times, I assure you all. Saturday in particular was brilliant, mostly down to the huge number of beautiful visitors that came to see me throughout the day. When dealing with treatment as heavy as this, sometimes the best method is simply forgetting about it all and laughing with friends and family, and that's what Saturday was all about. Being surrounded by people that I care so dearly about actually made me forget about all this Luke nonsense (by the way, I'm now simply calling my condition 'Luke'), and even if it's snippets of nostalgia or bemoaning a typical bad result for West Ham, it's so nice to be reminded that I have a life waiting for me as soon as I get this treatment out of the way. Yesterday I was upset trying to comprehend the amount of time I have to spend in this ward, but I assure you now as I write this blog I have a smile on my face as I look forward to all the time I'm going to have when I'm on the road to recovery. Things aren't so bad.
That's not to say don't visit me for the meantime though. I love visits, hence COME VISIT ME. Even if it's just a quick hello or yearnings for some of my wise counsel, you'll be doing me the world of good by showing your lovely faces.
That'll do for now. Just a quick word to all my fellow English peeps sitting Victorian Lit tomorrow: sorry I can't be there, I'm sure you're all gonna smash it though and get the grades you need. Remember, Robert Browning was an absolute gangster and is well worth writing a question on. Believe.
Much love.
Ryan.
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